


Together

by wanheda_two_heda



Series: Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Drunk Writing, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 22:35:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14388525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanheda_two_heda/pseuds/wanheda_two_heda
Summary: A series of drunk drabbles based off of Tumblr prompts!





	1. Feel My Heartbeat

“I’m freaking out, Bell,” Clarke says, panic clear in her voice.

He laughs, and she tries to punch him in the shoulder but misses widely, only succeeding in making him laugh more. 

“You’re a jerk,” she slurs.

Bellamy pulls her into his side and kisses the top of her head in the back seat of their Uber. “I’m sorry,” he says, and she might be too drunk to hear the laughter in his voice, too focused on his warm breath fanning through her hair. 

“No, you’re not. You’re getting too much of a kick out of this.”

“It’s not my fault,” he says, brushing his hand over her hair and keeping her close.  _ She won’t remember this in the morning _ , he tells himself. That’s why he’s letting this happen. It’s the only reason. He’d never allow himself to get this close otherwise. “I told you not to drink this much.”

She makes a whining noise. “You should have told me not to drink too much.”

He laughs again. “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t.” She’d slap him if she could see him rolling his eyes. “You gonna be okay?”

“No, I’m gonna be sick. And you know I hate being sick. I’m scared I’m gonna throw up, Bell.”

Bellamy thanks the driver when he pulls up outside of Clarke’s building and pulls his friend out of the minivan. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he guides her into the elevator and up to her apartment.

“You doing okay?” he asks as he fishes through her bag for her keys. 

“Yeah,” she mumbles, tucking herself closer to him. She sighs happily. “You’re warm.”

He falters with the key. “You’re drunk,” he says instead as he leads her in, not wanting to think about how she’s nuzzling into his neck.

“You’re pretty,” she says, and he hurries his pace, needing to put her to bed and leave before she says anything else. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“You’re not gonna be sick. You’re fine. Why are you so scared of throwing up anyway? You’re twenty-five. You’ve got to have gotten over it by now.” This is okay. This is safe conversation.

“It makes me feel gross, and I don’t like it.”

He brushes her hair off her forehead after tucking her under her blankets, jeans still on because he just  _ can’t _ take them off and just keep ignoring his feelings for her, okay? “You’ve got a cold sweat.”

“I told you I’m scared of getting sick. You don’t need to point it out more,” she mumbles. 

“Hey,” he says, his voice low as he crouches near her bed. “You’re gonna be fine, okay. You’re not gonna get sick. You need anything before you go?”

She reaches out for his hand and he takes it. “Will you stay? Just until i fall asleep?” He looks up at her and sees a tear in the corner of her eye.

“Of course.” He sits down with his back against the side of her bed.

“I don’t wanna be sick,” she says again, and she sounds almost like a small child. Her breathing is coming in short, shallow gasps. 

Bellamy takes her hand and pulls it over his shoulder to rest on his heart. “Feel my heartbeat? Focus on that, okay? Just slow your breathing and focus on my heart.”

She scoots her head to the edge of the bed so that she’s almost leaning it on his shoulder. She sighs happily and closes her eyes. “Yeah, focus on your heart. I got this. Okay.” It’s silent for a beat, and then, “You’ve got such a big heart, Bellamy. That’s why I love you so much.” 

She’s asleep before he can think of anything to reply.


	2. Not Just Friends

Bellamy’s arms cinch around Clarke’s waist, pulling her back against his chest as the music pulses around them. His hand on her hips guide her sway side to side, and he gets lost in the feeling of her pressing against him, grinding herself back against him. Her hair is in her face, and all he can smell is the scent of her flora shampoo and the sweet aroma of her sweat, dripping slowly down the column of her neck as she dances. 

Her arms come up and wrap around his neck, her fingers sliding into his thick curls, and Bellamy has to suppress a shiver. Clarke tips her head back to rest against his shoulder, and it’s dizzying how she exposes the side of her neck to him, just begging him to kiss it. Clarke and Bellamy have been dancing around something more than friendship for months, toeing, but never daring to cross the line. 

But he’s holding his best friend in his arms, and he’s had one too many drinks, and she’s wearing this shirt that she knows he love, which he suspects she did on purpose. So he doesn’t think, he just leans down and presses a kiss to her skin. And once he’s started, he can’t stop. He leaves kiss after kiss up the column of her neck, wet and open-mouthed kisses. Clarke gasps and tips her head back further, her arms tightening around his neck, and he pulls her even closer, his teeth flashing against her skin as he sucks a searing bruise below her jaw. She lets out a low whine when he soothes the bite with his tongue.

Clarke angles her head to face him, and his mouth finds hers, one hand moving from her waist to fist into her hair and angle her head the way he wants it to deepen the kiss. Clarke mewls when his tongue traces the seam of her lips, and she opens her mouth to him, her tongue finding his in an eager dance.

She pulls away, gasping for air, and they both stop moving even though everyone around them is completely oblivious to how her eyes are blown wide and his heart is pounding in his chest, nearly ringing in his ears.

“What are we doing?” she asks, still short of breath.

“I don’t know about you, but I was kissing you, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep doing it.”

She steps forward, but her voice is still loud so he can hear her over the music. “Bell, you’re my best friend.”

He leans forward so his lips brush hers when he speaks. “We’re not just friends, and you fucking know it.”

Before he can add anything else, Clarke crashes her lips to his, her hands fighting for purchase on his shoulders. Bellamy doesn’t even care that they’re in public because he’s kissing Clarke like he’s only ever dreamed of being able to kiss her, and she’s kissing him back just as eagerly. He slides his hands to her ass and lifts her, wrapping her thighs around his waist. He breaks their kiss long enough to carry her off the dance floor and into a quiet recess, out of the way of drunk club goers. Bellamy pins her up against the wall, grinding his hips into hers and kissing away the filthy sounds she makes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on [Tumblr](youleftme-clarke.tumblr.com)!


End file.
